


Hephaestus, God of the Forge

by I_am_the_Muse



Series: Tales of the Gods [8]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, all the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some strange reason it always surprised you when you saw sweat drip down from the blacksmith’s brow. It shouldn’t, not logically. The forge was always hot, both from the heated blades he beat into submission and from the steam they’d release when he place them in water to cool off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hephaestus, God of the Forge

For some strange reason it always surprised you when you saw sweat drip down from the blacksmith’s brow. It shouldn’t, not logically. The forge was always hot, both from the heated blades he beat into submission and from the steam they’d release when he place them in water to cool off.

At first you were worried about the amount you would sweat when you worked by his side, by the stench you no doubt gave off, but he never said a word about it. Eventually you just forgot about it all together; there was far too much work to do for you to be worried about your appearance after all. And it wasn’t like you were chosen to be his slave for that reason any way.

Hephaestus was the god of the forge, but one that had been thrown from mount Olympus when he was still young. As such, many thought him ugly or deformed, but really the only deformity he had was in his leg. He limped from the anvil to water barrel, and would limp from his forge to the forests to scrounge up the materials he needed if he didn’t have them already. His injury caused him pain all the time, and he wore a scowl more often than not. In fact, you weren’t even sure if you’d _ever_ seen him smile. Not even at the idea of having a young maiden to do his bidding eased the frown from his face. If anything, he seemed even _more_ upset that they’d saddled him with a chosen mortal – at least until you proved your worth to him.

You could complain – complain about the heat, the work, the god himself – but in all honesty, you were happy where you were. You weren’t even supposed to go to Hephaestus to begin with. Your village had chosen you to be thrown to the feet of the god of war, Ares. You had been terrified, your mind filled with tales and horror stories of all the women that went before you. However that was all for naught. The god had thanked the villagers for their offering – not all the men that went to war ended up dying – but would have nothing to do with you. He didn’t like the look of you – be it your face, your body or your voice – and so _gave_ you to Hephaestus, like your father would have given the worst cut of meat to the dogs.

The god had put you to work right away – you weren’t going to be just a useless bauble for him – and so sent you on errands when he needed materials or sent you to deliver his finished products. From time to time he even let you help make a few things, if only because your hands were far more delicate than his, and you found it easier to make smaller pieces of jewellery and such.

He never spoke much, other than to give you orders, but his was soft, gruff and never failed to send shivers down your spine. His hair was long and blond, though often dirty enough that it looked more brown than anything. His beard was thick, but surprisingly well-kept, as if it were the only thing he spent time on cleaning. He worked wearing nothing but leather pants and a thick leather apron. No gloves or any other protection from the sparks and flames of the forge. Perhaps he was so used to pain that he didn’t even feel it any more – a thought which made you feel guilty for pitying the god.

Injured leg or not, the man was god and looked like one. You were more than certain he knew that you lusted for him. It had started off innocently enough, with you just wanting to ease his pain, if only for a moment. It soon evolved into something less innocent as the heat of forge seemed to stay with you even in your dreams, and all you could think about his sweat-slick skin and the rippling muscles of his broad back as he poured all his pain and grief and shame inside of you. Among other things.

He made no advances toward you, no matter how receptive you would be to them. He made you work, and you worked, and tried your hardest not to make your staring so obvious. It wasn’t like you didn’t know the heat of a man’s body. It had been a short-lived affair, something you’d rather not think of, and probably the reason Ares wanted nothing to do with you. You knew that you could pleasure him if he gave you the chance. Or at the very least you could try.

He’d sent you on another errand that morning, and you went loyal as ever. It was a simple enough task, all you had to do was deliver a necklace to Narcissus and try not to let him draw you into a conversation about his good looks. You avoided Aphrodite, Hephaestus’ wife? – lover? – partner? You weren’t sure, but you knew to avoid her like the disease she was.

When you finally managed to return – almost two hours later; _Narcissus_ – you found the forge to be surprisingly quiet. You expected to hear hammer hitting anvil, or metal sizzling in water, but all you heard was nothing but eerie silence and finally, Hephaestus’ laboured breathing.

You entered the forge and rushed to his side when you noticed him sitting against the anvil, his face screwed up in pain and his hand grasping his injured leg.

“Hephaestus!” you cried out as you reached him, and quickly tried to help him up to his feet.

He cried out in pain as he stood up, and leaned heavily against you as you managed to get his arm over your shoulders. You almost fell over as you felt his full weight against you, and grit your teeth as you half dragged him to his bed at the other, somewhat cooler end of the forge. He said nothing as you sat him down on his bed, and let out only the smallest groan as you began squeezing his leg to try and find the source of the problem.

“What in Zeus’ name are you doing, woman?” he snapped out, his face thunderous as he snatched your hands from his leg.

“I am _trying_ to _help_!” you snapped back, though with less heat. He was a god after all.

He growled – and didn’t that just fan the burning fire of your lust even more – before letting go, apparently accepting the fact that you were determined to help him in some way. Kneeling between his thick legs as you tried to squeeze the cramping muscles of the injured leg was probably not in your best interest, but you were _determined_!

You don’t know how long you spent down there, but it was long enough to forget about your desires, and focus at the task at hand. You were actually proud of yourself when you could no longer hear him hissing in pain, and when you could feel the muscle of his leg finally loosen. You went to smile up at him, but was completely unprepared for the way he was looking at you.

He was leaning back, all his weight on his arms and he was staring at in a way you’ve only experienced once before – and the less about that affair the better – and you felt heat pool low in your belly. You finally noticed that instead of hissing in pain he was simply breathing deeply, panting almost, and you felt as if the air between you and he was warmer than the forge even in the hottest days in summer.

He leaned forward momentarily to pull his apron off, and you could finally see the bulge straining at the front of his leather pants, the ties beginning to loosen all on their own. You felt your mouth water at the thought, and you couldn’t help but whimper when he palmed himself as if to tease you.

“Do as you will,” he said, his voice soft and gruff once more.

You stopped yourself from lunging at him, if only just, and began to untie the front of his pants. Whether he was surprised at your eagerness or lack of virgin innocence, he made no comment on it. All he did was let out a low groan when you wasted no time taking the thick cock into your mouth. You had desires you wished to fulfil and none of them involved fooling around for too long.

Though he was a god, you were rather relieved he wasn’t abnormally godly in size. You’d never be able to fit his whole length in your mouth – that was just absurd – but you rather enjoyed being able to fit enough that his hips began to jerk up almost out of his control. You could feel yourself becoming wet as your movements became less precise and far more lewd.

“ _Gods_ ,” he groaned out, his hand going to the back of your head, though his hold was gentle.

You hummed in pleasure around his cock and began sucking at the organ in earnest, trying to the best of your abilities to bring him the pleasure he deserved. His movements became even more uncontrolled and you hoped that you would have the chance to taste his seed before your own end was reached.

You had not forgotten your own desire – it was an aching burning thing that you couldn’t ignore, try as you might, and at that point you’d have been happy to rut against one of those thick thighs of his as long as it got you off.

“Would you have me finish in your mouth?” he asked you suddenly, and you whimpered as he pulled himself away from you, “Or would you have me finish in your wet cunt?”

You couldn’t have helped the moan you let out even if you wanted to.

“I want--,” you stuttered, your body impossibly warm as the images swirled through your mind, “Taste—I want to taste you, _please_.”

He groaned again, and the hand at the back of your head gripped your hair almost painfully hard. He pulled your head back and your mouth fell open as he pushed the tip of his cock back into your heated orifice.

The taste of him was not what you were expecting. You were expecting something bitter and foul, but instead you tasted the _nectar_ _of the gods_. Or at least that’s what you thought you tasted. It wasn’t overly sweet, but you couldn’t seemed to get enough of it, even to the point that you began suckling on the head of his cock in attempts to get more of the sweet taste.

“Damn, woman, enough of that,” he growled out, prying you from his softening dick.

He pulled up onto his lap with the strength of god, and wasted no time in removing your practical clothing from your body. You whimpered as you felt thick fingers probing at your overheated sex, until pushed two of them into you at once.

“I will have you this night, and you will not refuse,” he stated, all the while pumping his fingers in and out of you, stretching you out for him. Your hips were moving without your consent, and he seemed pleased that you were taking your pleasure into your own hands, so to speak.

“I will have you any night I want, and you won’t complain.”

You nodded, not bothering with words any more. You were _so_ close.

“You are _mine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> So first off, SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG OMG SORRY
> 
> Second off, as always if you have any suggestions for gods/actors or goddesses/actresses of any kind please let me know. Also if there's any particular story you'd like to see a continuation of, let me know and I'll see what I can do.


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